The Fourth Bride by Carole Gill

“We are going now...”

Yes, we were stepping from one carriage into another carriage and onto a train and another, sometimes sitting on benches in between, waiting —but waiting for what?

I heard whistles and voices speaking in languages I did not understand.

“Sleep.”

Yes, of course. The puppet slept and ate when told to. I finally began to wake on the fourth day of this strange time, this journey of mine.

I know now it was indeed a journey that lasted four days, counting the nights spent in inns. I can recall nothing of those nights, just whispers in dark rooms and the sound of doors closing and someone coming in to see me, a sliver of light and then darkness.

“Yes, you sleep.”

And dream, too.

There were dreams; never did I have more frequent or more vivid ones. I dreamed of a man standing in shadow. I couldn’t see his face, only